It's Good To Keep Your Trunk Locked
by LadyAntiBeauty
Summary: Harry returns to the Hogwarts dorms on the first day of school and finds that his trunk has been switched with someone else's. A little insight into Malfoy and Snape. Kindly R/R
1. Default Chapter

Harry trudged up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories, stuffed full of all the food from the school's feast. Ron was close behind him, followed by Hermione, who was talking (still!) about all the new classes they were taking that year.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Hermione, we heard you." Ron mumbled, stretching his long arms so far that he nearly knocked Harrys glasses off. "School's great--can't wait to learn--something about feeding crooks--"  
  
Hermione snorted. "You haven't been listening at all! I said nothing about feeding anybody, nevertheless any 'crooks'. Unless you mean Crookshanks. Do you??"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Sure Hermione, that's what I meant. Feed that damned cat I hate so much."  
  
Hermione left, muttering about 'boys' and cooing to her cat, insisting that Ron was just a git and didn't know what he was talking about. Harry opened the door to the boys dorms. Neville was asleep in his school robes and Dean Thomas was changing on his own bed, near the front of the room.  
  
"Hey guys," he called, his voice muffled by his nightshirt. "Long time, no see, eh??" Harry nodded and sat down on his own bed. "Neville sure did fall asleep fast, huh Dean??"  
  
The black boy frowned and sighed. "Poor guy. I'm surprised he didn't fall asleep at dinner. Pale as ghost too. I hope nothing's the matter. I mean, his grandmother is a little old. I hope she's alright." He sighed, and Neville stirred.  
  
Harry frowned as well. "Maybe he's just tired. Or sick. He'll be alright tomorrow." The words practically slipped out of Harry's mouth with little effort on his part, and to him the statement seemed rather more hopeful than truthful. But then Seamus Finnigan entered, and anything sad was forgotten.  
  
"'Alo all!" He nearly shouted, jumping on the corner of Neville's bed and immediately jerking him out of his slumber. "Mighty nice feast tonight, eh?? I stuffed meself sure, that I did." He smiled at Neville, who rubbed his sleepy eyes and smiled back. "Get off, Seamus," the chubby boy murmured, pushing the Irish boy off of his legs. "I can't feel my feet."  
  
Seamus just smiled. "You feeling alright, lad??" He asked, putting both his palms all over Neville's tired face. Neville sputtered and pushed the cold hands away.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just. . . I visited my parents last night, and I'm a little tired." He responded, trying once again to force the sandy- haired boy off of him.  
  
"You sure??" Harry asked, moving across the room to his bed, but never looking away from Mr. Longbottom.  
  
"Yeah," Neville said, blushing, "I just didn't sleep well, that's all."  
  
Immediately Seamus jumped off the blond's bed (Earning an "aha!" of triumph from the bed's true occupant) and became very maternal of the small boy.  
  
"Yeh heard him," he said, shaking his finger in a way very reminicent of Mrs. Weasley. "Leave the poor laddy alone. He's a wee bit pooped, I'm telling yous. Poor mite." He shooed Harry the rest of the way to his bed, and then proceeded to do the same to Ron, though he navigated him into the trunk at the bottom of his own bed, making Ron let out a series of curses strung together in rather creative ways.  
  
Harry laughed. "Watch out for those trunks, Ron," he scolded lightly, "they just jump right out of no where."  
  
"Oh shut-up, Harry," Ron hissed good naturedly, and opened his trunk, producing a pair of pajamas.  
  
Harry moved down to his trunk and easily slid the lock off with an 'alohomora' charm. (For he had lost the key to it back at the Dursley's house, and they were not about to buy him a new one.) However, when he propped the lid open, he was staring at a rather unfamiliar set of robes.  
  
'What's this??' he wondered to himself, before pulling the garment from the trunk. It was a set of casual dress robes, all black, that one might wear to Hogsmeade or someplace where they wished not to wear their school uniform. "Is this yours, Ron??" He asked, showing it to the red haired boy as the latter slipped his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.  
  
"No, why?? It's not yours??" He answered.  
  
"Nah," Harry started, then cut himself off. Inside was a scarf of green and silver. "Slytherin colors?!" He yelped in surprise, and Ron moved over to his side with his eyebrows raised.  
  
"What are you on about, Harr--" He paused and pulled out a set of school robes, endowed with the Slytherin badge. "Harry, I don't reckon these are your things..."  
  
Dean came over and slid onto Harry's bed, pulling the robes from Ron's fingers. "Nope," he confirmed, looking inside the robe collar and then back at Harry. "He's right, they're not." He paused again, and inspected the garmet. It was definately new and of good quality.  
  
"Then whose ARE they??" Harry asked, but could feel his voice hitching on itself. Inside, somewhere, he knew whose they must be. According to the books in the trunk (Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5) the person was in his year, and about Harry's size. . .  
  
"I'll give you 3 guesses," Seamus jumped in, peering over Dean's shoulder. "And the first two don't count."  
  
Harry groaned. "Draco Malfoy??" He asked pitifully, and Seamus smiled broadly, tapping his nose.  
  
"Right in one, Harry ol' boy. Right in one." He responded, raking through the trunk.  
  
"What are you doing??" Harry prodded as the small Irish boy leafed through the Slytherin's things. He looked up, sandy bangs dangling in front of his face. He looked puzzled.  
  
"You serious??" He asked, then seeing that Harry was serious indeed, added, "Well, you don't as well think I'm going to take this opportunity laying down, do ye??"  
  
The look on Harry's face was that on pure bemusement. "What are you talking about??" he asked slowly, watching the boys face for any signs of a clue.  
  
Ron chuckled behind Harry, and pulled out Malfoy's new cauldron, which was filled with new socks. "This is the chance of a lifetime. A chance to see exactly what makes up a dirty, filthy, pretentious, snobbish, rich, blond, Slytherin boy's mind."  
  
Harry frowned again. "What?? You're talking in riddles, Weasley. Just spit it out."  
  
Dean sniggered and leaned close to Harry's face. Then he whispered, "We want to look at his stuff." Harry's eyes widened in a new understanding, and even Neville laughed at him.  
  
"Clever boy, you are, Harry. Quite clever."  
  
Harry threw the robes he was holding at Neville's head, and dug into the trunk. What he found at first were a few sets of robes, all new and including new dress robes. His school books were all dumped precariously in his trunk, as if he could care less if they were in there or not. His replacement potions ingredients were all safely wrapped in brown paper and stored away in a corner. Things like his toothbrush and hairbrush (and a round container of hair gel) were all packed together in a wire basket.  
  
"This boy is more boring than Hermione is," Ron sighed and sat back against the bed. Harry had to agree, for the Slytherin had shown no personal affects of any kind as of late, and Hermione always claimed that she used the extra space in her trunk for more books, rather than wasting it on needless accessories. Suddenly, Seamus let out a rather girlish squeal.  
  
"Oh, look laddies! Malfoy's got a photo album!" 


	2. The Contents

"Er, Seamus," Ron started, rubbing his neck. "I got a quick question." The Irish boy stared straight back at his friend, his fingers ready to pry open the book's cover. "Yes??" He asked innocently.  
  
"Why do we *care* if Malfoy's got an album full of pictures?? Probably of himself."  
  
Neville laughed, but sat next to Seamus on the floor. "I dunno, Ron, I sorta want to see them. You know, even if they *are* all of Malfoy."  
  
With that, Seamus opened the album to reveal the first page of the book. On it was a rather large picture of a woman that Harry immediately recognized as Malfoy's mother, though she wasn't frowning like Harry had seen her. Though far from smiling, she was definately compliant to take the head-shot.  
  
"She's pretty," Dean said, voicing their opinions, though none of the other boys would admit it, and Seamus turned the page.  
  
It was a poorly taken wizard photo, and the people in it moved akwardly and were out of focus. It was a short boy with silver hair, whom Harry assumed was a young Malfoy, standing next to a tall man wearing all black. The boy would suddenly duck out of the picture with wide eyes, as though something from behind the camera was chasing after him. Definately odd, but nothing too amusing, so Seamus turned to the next page.  
  
There were a few pictures on the next page, but only one of which really caught Harry's eye. It was worn around the edges and one of the corners was taped on, so it looked as though it had been involved in some sort of struggle. On it was a man whom Harry did not immediately recognize, with a small Malfoy in his lap. On the back was written, "Me and Draco--August 3rd, '84"  
  
Harry pulled the book towards his lap. If he didn't know any better, (which he did,) he would have thought that man looked like Professor Snape. He did bear a remarkable resemblance to him, but Harry shook off the thought. Snape wasn't the kind of guy who liked kids; he wasn't the kind of guy who let kids sit on his lap; he wasn't the kind of guy who allowed pictures to be taken on him. That couldn't be Snape. And yet...  
  
The next page confirmed his thoughts, along with Neville's, who unconsciously slunk further back behind Seamus. "That's Snape!" Ron nearly shouted, grabbing the book out of Harry and Seamus' hands. "Ew."  
  
Sure enough, Snape was standing at his entire height and clutched to his leg was a little brown-haired girl. She wasn't smiling up sweetly at the professor, who appeared to be (but it just wasn't possible) laughing. Harry twitched. Snape didn't laugh--or smile!  
  
Quickly, Neville reached forward and turned the page, mumbling something like, "How much do you think I can take??" The following pages contained many pictures of the girl standing beside Snape, along with a few more of Narcissa and two (count 'em, two) snapshots of Lucius Malfoy. (One of which appeared to have been taken by Draco himself, because he was looming over the picture enough to make Neville yelp. He was a scary man.)  
  
The boys finished flipping through the book, reading the backs of most of the pictures and trying to remember where to return them when they were finished. (Dean stole a picture when no one was looking, of Draco with his head caught in a banister. The boys laughed, but none were aware that he had swiped the photograph.) Harry had soon learned the identity of the brown-haired girl from a photo of Draco and her in the snow, when it had been labled on the back in green marker: "ME AND PIP, IT WAS SNOWY."  
  
Ron laughed. "Me and Pip." He managed to squeak before rolling over on his side, knocking into Dean who was also laughing. Harry laughed as well, but tried to cover it up. "Quiet," he hissed between fits of barely contained giggles, "Gimme that." He took the book from the Irish boy's hands, nearly ripping the cover. "Let's put this back." He moved it over the trunk and was about to plunk it in when a picture slid out. Harry knelt down on the floor and lifted it to his eyes.  
  
In the picture was both Draco and 'Pip,' as they stood in front of a large staircase. He laughed again, and the boys came to peek over his shoulder. The girl stood in red rainboots that went past her knees, gardening gloves on both her hands, and she held a spatula in her left hand. She was wearing a clashing yellow rain slicker that dragged on the floor. Next to her and appearing to be about to pounce on the stairs, stood Draco. He was wearing unlaced, glossy boots and a red and orange pillow case he had tied around his neck to look like a cape. His right hand was extended in the air, holding a stick that still had it's leaves, and his other was gripping what appeared to be salad tongs. On his head was a shiny silver caulendar (A/N: You know, pasta strainer. I don't know how to spell it. If you do, can ya lend me a hand??) on his head. His lightly colored blonde hairs stuck through the tiny holes, as it shot out at odd angles.  
  
To be frank, if it wasn't Malfoy, he'd be pretty cute.  
  
They seemed to be pretending they were superheros (or trained wizards, Harry wasn't sure) and were both beaming at the camera. Neville giggled and sighed. "That's so cute," he whispered.  
  
TBC 


End file.
